Welcome To The Hermit's Desk

I may need another medication adjustment, as the last two mornings have seen me leap out of bed in the middle of anxiety attack, doom and gloom pressing down every breath, ragged and grabbing me by the throat. I pace. I clean. I sit down, curl up, head on my knees, hands caught in my hair, trying to pull the thoughts out.

Mornings used to be my favorite time of the day. Now I dread them. Life at 36 is not life at 16. Simple enough concept, right? But it's one that clobbers me over the head every goddamn time I open my eyes.

The nights are easier, though as the days go, Jesse sinks and I do not know what to do to catch him. Arms can be a lifesaver, but getting out of my head seems impossible somedays.

I must try, though. My goal of having meaningful interaction (face to face) with another human being 30 minutes every other day has had some success. I don't always feel better, but I know it's necessary to get moving out of my sickness. Re-socialize to eventually back to being able to work.

I've managed to keep every appointment set in the last month. My case manager and I come up with a new goal every week. I've accomplished most of them. I've got a peer-support-specialist to call back tomorrow.

My dreams keep throwing me back to the psych ward, where no one will tell me why I'm there and no one will let me leave. It's a stark juxtaposition to how I feel WHEN in the psych ward. (Safe, protected, and somewhat scheduled with all their groups.) But I really, really want to stay out them. That helps.

I'm setting up every goddamn mental health resource available towards my outstretched hands, because it's either this or resigning myself to the 6th floor every fucking month. And while I feel safe there, it also holds my recovery back, because life ain't no psycho ward, and I've got to learn to live outside of it.

See, a person gets so many screw ups before their support group has to start pulling away for their OWN sanity. I don't want to do that. I've an AMAZING support group, both online and face-to-face. I just need to get better at utilizing it! I'm terrible about reaching out, especially when push comes to sharp objects and extra pill bottles laying out.

Gonzo, your suggestion of removing all the sharp knives and razors, the extra bottles that whisper to me to take them all at once - the easy-go-to's for destruction was taken and it has helped immensely. Not that there aren't another million ways to hurt myself (broken glass, jagged pencil edges, hell, staples and thumb tacks), but those are never as satisfying.

I don't even know where the knives, razors, and extra bottles are. I think Jesse did the smart thing and handed them off to a friend, because if there's one thing an addict will do (and cutting and making entire dinners out of a pill bottle is an addiction) is to tear apart a house, stone by screaming stone with their bare hands, to find their favorite fix.

Existential angst is in full force in the mornings. I tell myself that THAT is perfectly normal. It is the human condition. Sometimes it is enough to calm the anxiety enough for me to allow me to practice other mindful exercises to get me through.

The next step - the goal set up for this week - is to find someplace to volunteer. I'm physically well enough to do at least twice a month. It will accomplish several things at once: Developing a schedule (which has been destroyed in the last year), helping others, finding a sense of self-identity.

And for fucks sake, I need a goddamn sense of self-identity. I've been so aimless, so in my head, so completely out of my mind, I think to find things OUTSIDE of myself that help identity myself, to give good labels to apply to myself will be a life-saver - possibly literally.

I CAN DO THIS. I am not destined to sink and swim in the mud in my veins. I am not going to let all the years of building myself before mean nothing in the force of what is currently destroying me.

The demons are many, and I am in an ocean where the sharks smell the blood and constantly circle. I will fight them. Somedays will be better than others. Somedays a shower will be the best I can do. But I am finally beginning to see some light on the other side of the tunnel, and I can say with some certainty that it's not just another train barreling straight for me.

My pain didn't change me, I changed my pain. MY PAIN DID NOT CHANGE ME, I CHANGED MY PAIN." - Icon for Hire "Demons. I've done this before. I can do this again. I listen to this song every day. It is anthem. It is reclaiming power - both mine in sharing the struggle and mine in remembering my strength, my endurance, my resilience.